Page 41 of Tangled Kisses
He straightens, kills the power, and turns to me with his easy smile.
“Hey, belleza. What are you doing down here?”
Kill me now. Did he hear that? Of course, he did.
I force my feet forward, my words tripping over themselves. “Capri asked me to bring you this.” I thrust the box at him like it’s radioactive.
His fingers brush mine—barely a graze—and heat skitters up my arm.
“Thanks. About damn time this arrived.” He flips the lid, nodding at the contents, then glances back at me. “So, how are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” Jamming my hands in my pockets, I rock back on my heels. “Hot out today.”
Smooth, Reese. Truly captivating conversation.
“That’s an understatement.” He swipes his forehead with his hat. “It’s practically nuclear out here.”
“Yeah. You must be… hot.”
He arches his brows at my second-grade vocabulary. “Yep.”
The universe could drop me into a sinkhole right now, and I’d be grateful.
Because the truth? I cannot handle this man half-naked. All that sweat is doing things. Illegal things. He wasn’t kidding about the eight-pack—physics should file a complaint.
“I should’ve brought you water,” I blurt, thrusting mine toward him. “I only took a couple of sips. Don’t worry, I don’t have anything contagious.”
His dimples deepen. “I wasn’t worried.” He tips the bottle back, drains it in one go, then runs a hand through his curls, lifting his arms and flexing every muscle I’m tryingnotto ogle.
Oh, great. Now he’s caught me staring.
“You okay over there?”
“Fine,” I squeak. “It’s just—oh my God, you actuallyhavean eight-pack. I was joking when I said that. Plus, you’ve got that—never mind.”
His grin sharpens. “No way I’m letting that go. What do I have?”
“That V that makes women lose their minds.”
He gestures lazily at his torso. “You mean this?”
“You know I do.”
“Seems your mind’s still working fine.” He tips his head, eyes glinting. “So, are you immune to me?”
I nearly choke. “Trust me, I’m not.”
The smirk that slides across his mouth makes my knees wobble. He knows. Oh, heknows.
“Yeah?” His gaze drifts over me, slow and deliberate. “I was starting to wonder if I’d lost my touch. But maybe not, since you look a little distracted.”
Distracted? Try clinically brain-dead.
He’s caught me fair and square. See, universe? This is why I stay squirreled away in the safety of my room.
To avoid seeing this drop-dead delicious hunk of a man in front of me.
Dear God, is an orgasm possible simply by looking at him?
